The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (24 page)

‘What time is the start?’ I ask.

‘It’s scheduled for half past three. Most people should be here by then, although some of them like to watch the race from the pub or one of the bridges. Of course, quite a few aren’t interested in the race at all, so the real party won’t get going until late.’

Immy’s teeth start to chatter and my fingers are numb. Jocasta takes pity on us.

‘Shall we go back inside for now?’

My throat is hoarse from shouting, my hands are numb from the cold and my hair is blown around like a wild thing, but Oxford have won. We’re all gathered in front of the TV now, about thirty of us squeezed into the sitting room, watching the Oxford squad throwing their cox into the river. Cambridge have a look of sheer devastation, standing to one side, with no purpose any more after all the months of training. Despite the gleeful jibes from some of the guests, some of whom have friends in the Dark Blue boat, I actually feel sorry for the defeated Cambridge team.

Corks pop as magnums of Moët are opened and the waiting staff hand round flutes of champagne.

Jocasta has climbed on to a sofa. ‘To us!’ she shouts and everyone cheers.

‘There’s Scott again!’ Immy says, and Scott’s face flashes up on the screen. He’s being interviewed by a woman from the BBC. I don’t think I have ever seen him, or anyone, look so happy. I want to cry for him but I hold back the tears, because it most definitely wouldn’t be the done thing. I wonder if he will come along tonight. It would be nice to congratulate him. I haven’t seen him for ages, what with all the dramas in my life. I must get my priorities right from now on.

Even though I’m determined to enjoy myself, I can’t help feeling down; the way I parted from Alexander was so cold and bitter. The unfairness of his comments still stabs at me, even though he was upset and felt betrayed. He had the same look about him as when
I confronted him about the nightmare. It’s like he has some kind of emergency switch inside that he activates when he feels threatened. I guess it’s a survival instinct he’s developed to protect himself but it leaves the people around him cut off. I don’t know how I lived on that knife edge now, no matter how glorious the sex, and how exhilarating the whole Hunt cocktail of glamour and excitement.

I must admit I felt alive every day I was with him and, yes, I wonder where he is now, even though I hate myself for allowing him to occupy my thoughts.

‘Are you OK?’ Immy gives my arm a little squeeze.

‘I was wondering if I should phone Emma. She was incredibly upset when Alexander and I had the row. She’s texted me a few times, saying she blames herself for splitting us up.’

‘Good. It was her fault.’

‘I replied a couple of times telling her not to stress about it, but I still feel sorry for her. She’s had such a horrible time.’

‘Does she know where Alexander’s gone?’

‘I think he told her it’s a training exercise in Wales, but I know it isn’t.’

‘Are
you
worried about him?’

‘No …’ I say. I’ve always worried before when Alexander has gone away but this time, I realize, there’s been so much going on, I haven’t really had time to think about that side of things.

Immy raises her eyebrows. ‘Have another Pimm’s?’

‘Maybe I ought to pace myself,’ I say ruefully, though the Pimm’s does look very tempting.

She smiles. ‘Yes, maybe we both should. I’ve got a feeling tonight’s going to be quite lively. I do hope Scott turns up.’

By the time Immy’s wish is finally granted, it’s well past midnight. Despite the effort of the race, and the fact I suspect he’s been drinking most of the evening, Scott looks fresh as a daisy and incredibly handsome in his tux. No wonder every female head turns to look at him. The guys slap him on the back, congratulating him, and one guy even kisses him smack on the mouth.

Scott pulls a face and makes a barfing noise but his mile-wide grin is soon in place again; I guess nothing can ever wipe it away now that he’s achieved his dream. I hang back, feeling awkward, with so much I want to say to him that I don’t say anything at all. I also feel slightly not myself, and this time it has everything to do with the Pimm’s, Moët and vodka cocktails I’ve been drinking since we arrived, despite my attempts to go slow on this.

I hesitate, watching him have his moment in the sun, and when I do eventually reach him, I have a lump in my throat. He greets me with a kiss, this time on my cheek, and a great big hug.

‘Hey, well done! Let me be the first one to say “I told you so”.’

‘Not the first. Those were my mother’s exact words
when I called her after the race. Also my grandmother’s.’ He grins, clearly feeling on top of the world.

‘It may not be original but I still stick by it. You’re amazing.’ I smile at him, feeling truly happy for him and able, at least for now, to put my own problems to one side.

‘You know, at the risk of sounding too American, I think I am,’ he says, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Where’s Alex?’ He looks around, searching for him.

Oh fuck. I shrug my shoulders and answer honestly. ‘I have no idea, Scott.’

‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh. He went on some mission and couldn’t tell me where.’ I giggle after making this statement. ‘The name’s Hunt, Alexander Hunt.’

Scott seems a little taken aback by my flippancy and I have to admit my wit isn’t too sparkling or sharp by this stage of the evening.

‘Wow. OK, well, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough. I have the feeling the guy will never go away.’ He looks at me very directly and I’m struck once again by how easy everything feels in his company.

‘I guess not …’ He looks so happy, I decide now that I’m not going to burst his massive bubble. I raise my champagne glass to him and my voice. ‘Forget Alexander. This is your night. To Scott Schulze, who single-handedly won the Boat Race for Oxford!’

So what if a few heads turn in my direction and laugh or roll their eyes? So what if I just pissed off half the
Boat Race crew? So what if Scott takes my elbow when I teeter against him and says, ‘Whoa, there, steady,’?

‘So what the fuck do I care what anyone thinks? I’m celebrating with a friend, a very good friend,’ I add defiantly.

‘Are you feeling OK, Lauren?’ he asks, laughing, but there is concern in his eyes too.

‘Absholutely fine. Superrr,’ I assure him, giving him my best dazzling smile.

‘Hey, Scott.’ A girl appears and threads her arm through Scott’s. She’s a couple of inches taller than I am and super fit by the look of her sculpted cheekbones.

He kisses her on the lips and says, ‘Lauren, this is Lia. She’s in the Women’s Lightweight crew. Lia, meet Lauren, who’s a very good friend of mine.’

‘Hello, Lauren. Scott’s told me all about you, really good to meet you.’ Lia’s accent is Northern Irish, I think, and I watch as Scott drapes an arm over her shoulder, giving her another, longer kiss.

‘Has he?’ My voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to me any more. That feeling of being operated by another being, rather than being me, has taken over. I’ve had way too much to drink – why else would I feel like crying?

While some guy claps Scott on the back and drunkenly starts to tell him he wants to have his babies, Lia talks to me.

‘Scott told me you used to date his cousin?’ She is so
friendly, and so pretty, I just want to run away, yet I have no right to feel peeved.

‘Um, for a while, yes, that’s right.’

‘And now you’re going out with Alexander Hunt?’

I don’t know how to reply, so I say, ‘Uh-huh. Congratulations on winning your race too. I’m really pleased for you both,’ I manage, feeling strangely empty.

‘Thank you,’ she grins, radiating happiness. ‘We were massive underdogs but Scott gave me a pep talk a few weeks ago and I tried to focus on that. He’s so bloody talented it’s not fair.’ She sighs, looking over at him adoringly.

‘He is pretty amazing,’ I agree. ‘Have you known him long?’

‘I’ve known
of
him since the start of Michaelmas; who could fail to miss him?’ She laughs. ‘Obviously we’ve both been too busy to see much of each other, although I finally got to talk to him at a party for the Blues squads a few weeks ago. Tonight, at the ball, we finally sort of got together. We’re not going out or anything.’ She smiles and holds up her crossed fingers. ‘Yet.’

‘Good luck,’ I say, and I mean it, or at least I do my best to mean it.

‘To be honest, I’m absolutely knackered but Scott wanted to come to the party. I don’t think we’ll stay long. We should both be in bed.’ I have no idea how to reply to this and I genuinely don’t think Lia realized what she said because she suddenly puts her hand over
her mouth and goes red to the roots of her auburn hair. ‘My God, I didn’t mean …’

I dredge up a smile.

‘Actually, I probably
did
mean …’ She laughs out loud and Scott turns away from the guy he’s been talking to and puts his arm around her. ‘What are you guys up to? Should my ears be burning?’

‘Yes.’ I force a laugh. ‘Hey, I see Immy over there. Catch you later.’

I have as much intention of catching Scott and Lia later as I do of making Valentina my BFF, but I do know that Immy is somewhere amid a knot of godlike Blues rowers out on the deck, mainlining pints and cigarettes like they’ve been in jail for a year.

The wind seems to slice through me and the blast of oxygen isn’t helping my inebriated state, but I don’t care. I have to get away from Scott and Lia.

‘Are you OK? You look a little queasy,’ says Immy.

‘I feel it,’ I admit shakily.

‘Too much Pimm’s?’ she quizzes.

‘No, just irrational jealousy.’ I try to make a joke of it.

‘What’s wrong, hun?’ Immy looks concerned now.

‘Scott’s here,’ I mutter.

‘Yes. And that’s a bad thing?’

‘He’s with a girl.’ I look down, biting my lip.

‘Oh dear. I see,’ says Immy, clearly not sure what to say now. ‘Horrible, is she?’

‘No, she’s very pretty, and fit and nice and she has a sense of humour.’

Immy rolls her eyes. ‘What a total bitch.’

‘I wish she
was
a bitch because that would make things easier. You know that feeling when someone you know likes you and is attracted to you, and then they go off with someone else – and you feel pissed about it even if you didn’t really want them in that way?’

‘Not that often, but I’ll try to imagine,’ Immy grins, squeezing my arm. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Lia.’

Immy nods. ‘Hmm, I think I know her. Long red hair, about six feet tall?’

‘That’s her.’

‘Oh fuck. I can’t even hate her either, because she
is
nice, and she’s just spent a year volunteering in a refugee camp in Africa before she completes her medical studies. That’s if she doesn’t decide to try for the Olympic rowing team in Rio.’

I have to smile at this. ‘Lia is so perfect for Scott; in fact they’re both perfect human beings. I’m really happy that Scott’s found someone he likes.’

‘Of
course
you are. Does he know that you’re having problems with Alexander?’

‘No way. I didn’t want to spoil the evening by telling him.’

‘Maybe the news would have made his evening.’

‘I doubt it, judging by how happy he and Lia seem. No matter how irrationally jealous I feel, I’m really glad I didn’t tell him that Alexander and I are history. It would have looked as if I was angling for a comfort shag.’

‘He would have been one hell of a comfort shag. He’s absolutely divine.’

‘Yes, he’s gorgeous, and he’s a hero.’

‘So’s Alexander.’

I snort. ‘I know that, but he’s also a screwed-up, frustrating, awkward, repressed bastard.’

‘Who you wish would walk through the door right this minute and drag you off to one of the bedrooms?’

‘No, because I don’t want to see him again.’ I realize as I say this that I really do mean that – I need some simplicity in my life after the last few weeks. It’s all really been too much.

Immy looks at me carefully and then takes my arm. ‘In that case, come and introduce yourself to some rowers. I’ve been dying to know if it’s true they don’t wear anything under the Lycra.’

It is true, apparently, and within a short time Immy has also discovered that waxing goes on. Truly, I suppose, we’re living every girl’s dream, the centre of attention of half a dozen rowers. One minute we’re laughing as Immy confesses to having watched some of them training from her friend’s narrowboat opposite their Boat House, the next she’s being hauled off in the direction of the hallway – and the stairs to the bedrooms, I presume – by some guy whose dress shirt is already open to the waist, showing off abs to die for.

A few minutes later, I feel a hand as broad as a shovel
curl around my bottom and a voice that could grace the RSC slurs, ‘D’you fancy a shag?’

The hotty next to me is like something from a Hollister ad; he also reeks like a brewery and a couple of minutes ago was making jokes about lighting his own farts. However, somebody told me earlier that he’s got a DPhil in Molecular Biology and has just discovered a test for some kind of cancer so I decide to cut him some slack. But I’m still not going to take up his offer.

‘It’s tempting, Olly, but I think I’ll pass on this occasion,’ I say lightly.

‘Shame, you’re the sexshiest girl in the room and the classhiest.’ He lets his hand drop from my butt. ‘But probably just as well because I’m not entirely shure I could finish the job. It’s been a busy day.’

He sways a little and I would steady him with my hand on his arm if I didn’t think he might crash on top of me and squash me flat.

‘I may be a teeny bit neinbriated … brineanted … wankered.’

‘I’d say that was an accurate description.’

Two of his friends catch him just as he’s about to fell a lamp and possibly smash a glass table in two.

‘Goodnight, Olly,’ I murmur as he lies spread-eagled over a sofa, his mouth open, snoring.

I think it’s time for me to call it a night too but there’s no way I’m interrupting Immy. I find my bag stuffed behind the TV cupboard and dig out my phone.

Immy, gone back to apartment.

Have fun with your rower xxx